


Flicker

by Ink_Vein



Category: Original Work
Genre: But I will say that everything is not as it seems, F/F, General mindfuckery, Multi, Not putting too much in the tags because this is a learn as you go thing, Other, TRUST NO ONE, That's seriously what this novel is all about honestly, The usual graphics and grit that are essential to my writing, Trust Nothing, Unreliable Narrator, at all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-05-09 22:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14725043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ink_Vein/pseuds/Ink_Vein
Summary: We have five senses. Hearing, Sight, Smell, Taste, Touch. We use these to define reality.But senses can lie. Senses can't always be trusted. What does that say for reality?





	1. Hypothesis

>   _Chapter One:_ _Hypothesis_
> 
>  

     A mob of acne-faced, zombie-like teenagers wandered into Las Vegas’ Washington Academy, seeking purpose. Some roamed the halls, hunting others to entertain them. Some trudged into classrooms and fell into desks, letting themselves drift off to sleep until the shrill bell would ruthlessly wake them. The halls were filled with jocks chasing nerds; some cheerleaders, goths, and emos; punks, preps, and the ever-present stoner crowd. But one brunette-haired girl with piercing blue eyes stood out in this crowded hallway, grin gleaming and voice booming.

     “Over the past three years, dozens of our students have gotten  _ terrible _ sickness from what the cafeteria ladies call ‘Stu Surprise!’” Jean declared into her school reporter microphone. “But the only surprise we all know it to be is a  _ horrid _ mishmash of some kind of rotten food.” She walked backwards a little down the hall, her camera boy, Aron, following her. “Join us as a former victim of this so-called stu shares his traumatic story.”

     She held her microphone out to a boy so pale and sickly it was obvious he shouldn’t even be at school today. Jean gently prompted him and he swallowed, giving the camera a sage look. “I ate the Stu Surprise a week ago and I'm still feeling the effects,” he mumbled, clutching his stomach. “My stomach hurts, my head is pounding, and--” Abruptly, he covered his mouth, making a sickening sound before dashing to the bathroom.

     Jean turned back to the camera, a weird expression on her face. “So, to the cafeteria ladies we say, 'Stop the epidemic!'” she concluded, ending off with an overly-sober but suave, “This is Jean Janis Parker with Washington Academy News.”

     Aron turned the camera off, smiling. “You did great!”

     “You really think so?” Jean began to wander down the hall, clutching the microphone to her stomach and blushing. Aron and she had gotten to know each other as they did the news, growing closer together as they worked. They were still on that thin line between acquaintanceship and friendship when it was awkward to hold any kind of conversation, but Jean liked to think they were close at heart. She spared herself a glance over at her maybe-friend for just a second. He was turning off the bulky outdated camera and removing the videotape from the top of it. In fact, a lot of the equipment they had was outdated, even with the academy’s stellar news program.

     “Well of course I think so!” he assured her as he struggled with his grip on it. “You’re a natural....news....reporter.” He grunted with effort in between words, attempting to situate the heavy camera in his hands again. Aron had built up quite a bit of muscle lugging that thing around, but he still struggled with it most days. Absently, Jean took a mental note to really talk to the principal about upgrading their equipment. “I should probably go,” he suggested when he finally closed the top and was in control of the camera again. Jean returned to the present and shoved her microphone at him before she forgot. “Gotta get this on the newsreel! The news doesn’t air itself!” He snatched the microphone once he had a free hand, and with those words, he took off down the hall without so much as a goodbye.

     Jean laughed to herself and kept walking. Aron wasn’t one to talk, and she should know that.

     A few minutes later she reached her classroom, entering and then slumping down in her chair. Pulling the appropriate books out of her backpack, she arranged them on her desk, waiting for the sound in the hall that signaled the news was starting. Before long, the telltale jingle went off and she heard the head reporter, Amelia Bow, make her dramatic morning speech. There wasn’t much of a hush in the hall: no one really cared what she had to say most of the time. Or any of the reporters, for that matter. Poor girl. Jean stifled this thought and went on pulling out books, notebooks, and pens and arranging them.

     A curly-haired girl beside her began to snore loudly, and the chatter around her became ambience. As for Jean, she was just glad she had a spot by the window. Twirling her locks, she stared out and imagined herself somewhere far, far away --- if only there were a place like that. Sure, the mountains were enough to enjoy and having your very own citywide Christmas lights all year, but she longed for the wide-open space of the country; the fields of wildflowers, the ambience of cicadas, crickets, owls, and toads. And yet, something even more open than that: the country just wasn’t wide enough for her. But what was? She felt confined in a way she couldn’t quite justify to herself.

     Everyone around continued to talk through Amelia’s “top story” and paid no mind to the poor girl. She blabbed on about news in fashion, school politics, new and repealed rules, important notifications from herself and a few actually important ones from the principal. As she moved on to a few national news tidbits, the speakers boomed out the phrase “recent activity in our atmosphere." Jean was the only one to pick up on this because of all the noise and was about to tune it out, thinking it was more stuff about global warming, when one word caught her attention.

     “…and some strange transmissions have…” Amelia continued. Transmissions… Jean mulled over the word. The news moved on to Jean’s own report, but she was too distracted now to critique it.

     Transmissions? From where? And, more importantly, from what? …Aliens? No, no, no; not possible, not probable. And yet, it was her job as a reporter to know. It made her curious: it was her instinct to dig deep.

     Mr. Curette’s voice broke through her focus. He clomped into the room with a bored expression on his face and sighed, “Let us begin class,” with an unnecessarily loud drop of his books. “And maybe this time I can retain a bit of my sanity! Doubt it, but who says trying will kill me?” As he flopped into his creaky wooden chair, he murmured under his breath, “Please let it kill me.”

     Mr. Curette never ceased to amaze Jean. Every day he came in like this and couldn’t care less for his class, yet he still kept his job. Even if he hadn’t already looked like him, his attitude alone was enough to remind Jean of Squidward, and that was kind of terrifying. She had tried doing a report on him to get him fired, which was submitted anonymously. So far, he had fortunately never found out; either that or he just didn’t show it. In addition, she had turned in numerous character sketches about him in English, and eventually Mrs. Thrush was forced to side with her. Currently, Jean had a mental note to arrange a public demonstration of Mr. Curette’s indifference and atrocious demeanor in front of the principal, but the plan would probably never come to fruition. (Jean’s mental corkboard was chock-full.) For now, he and Jean just hated each other. He, for no reason; and Jean had her -- extremely valid -- reasons.

     “Turn your books to page 112. And stop giving me those sour looks! Remember, no matter how much you hate this class, I more than likely hate you more.” Jean rolled her eyes and begrudgingly flipped through the pages. With a flourish of his hand, Mr. Curette stood up and proceeded to his flimsy plastic pulpit. “Now, for today’s lesson, I…”

     Jean’s mind trailed off once more, mulling over the news today. She still could not get over the report about the transmissions; that innate need to know drove her crazy. And she couldn't shake the feeling that something was right under her nose that she wasn't seeing. Just as she was mentally reciting what she would ask Amelia, she caught sight of Nikko across the classroom.

     His eyes were fixed straight at her. Jean ducked down and covered her face, but she couldn’t suppress the urge to make sure he wasn’t still looking. When she glanced up again, his eyes were trained hard on her, boring into her soul in a very literal sense, searching for something. She cringed with an unnatural fear and slid down in her desk, closing her eyes and trying to catch her breath.

     Nikko Leonid was what you would call your typical goth: black hair, hardened expression, depressing apparel choices, sworn to near-silence, and an aura about him that repelled most others. Not in a disgusting way, but like a spiky bubble about him. His black strands usually curtained his obsidian eyes, but today they were wide open and vulnerable to the world. They gleamed with something nigh nymph-like. He’d been in this school for who knows how long, but even his strange behavior hadn’t gotten him anywhere in anyone’s eyes --- he was invisible to the world. Jean was probably the one person who noticed him…and feared him. Yes, it was unnatural for any reporter to know fear much less show it, but she couldn’t help it. Something about him warned Jean, and it terrified her. He had for years.

     Even as she directed her eyes to Mr. Curette and attempted to pay attention, she could feel Nikko’s eyes on her. Perhaps he knew just how much she feared him and decided to play on that today. Jean hoped not; she had no defense, even a news story, for this one. Perhaps he knew that she’d looked at him enough times to have his unique facial structure memorized -- memorized enough to have vivid nightmares that left her lying in bed with a severe migraine -- and was just mocking her today. That wasn’t a very good thought, either. Nevertheless, even though she strived, her mind would not compute anything Mr. Curette was saying. She was constantly watching Nikko from the corner of her eye. His stabbing eyes kept their target, still searching, strengthening their effect every second. Jean closed hers and sat back in her desk, trying to remember to breathe. The fear had never been this great: today, Nikko was more terrifying than ever.  _ One more glance,  _ Jean reprimanded herself.  _ Maybe I can, I don’t know, stare him down or something.  _ Jean was intimidating, right? Right. Slowly, she let her head swivel in his direction. However, he was gone.

     Confusion clouded everything. Jean hadn’t seen him leave the room, much less even get out of his seat. How did he---

     “Miss Parker? … **_Miss_ ** Parker!” Mr. Curette’s voice jolted her out of the dilemma. With a sigh, he slowly sauntered up to her desk. “Don’t think just because you’re a little school reporter you can just skid by, Jean Janis Parker.” Her reporter name was spat mockingly, like every syllable of it burned his tongue. “I will not tolerate that, and you, in my class. It is rightfully fair, and my judgment is golden. Now,” A shark-like smile spread across his face as he trudged back to his pulpit, “would you care to give us your answer?”

     It was important to keep composure in her position. A reporter must show themselves in control at all times -- even when they desperately wanted to punch a teacher. However, control meant acting like there wasn’t a huge blank spot in the past minute of her sense of hearing. “I… uh…” she stuttered intelligently.

     “Detention,” he retorted before the stutter was even fully out of Jean’s mouth. “In fact, just to show you how superbly insignificant your little position is, two weeks detention!” That shark smile broadened.

     Jean  really wanted to hit him.

* * *

     Later at lunch, Jean munched on her sandwich angrily, writing notes for her next report as she did so. Entranced in her own little world, Jean couldn’t even be distracted by the horrendously loud lettuce crunch. Her pen scribbled vehemently across the paper as she planned her next broadcast and interview, but the slam of a lunch tray made her jump and drop her pen.

     “Table was empty,” Nikko mumbled in a gruff voice, lowering himself onto the farthest seat from her.

_      I’ll just ignore him _ , she thought,  _ I don’t need any of his nonsense anyway. Empty! Really? Could he not see me sitting at the table?! _ Nevertheless, she swallowed her anger, picked up her pen with a shaking hand, and tried to focus on her notes. “In the past week…” she spoke slowly as she wrote it down, struggling to keep her hand steady.

     “Could you be quiet?” that same gruff voice -- that actually sounded really put-on now that she thought about it -- reprimanded her. Again! Her anger boiled. However, she would not let him control her. She was perfectly fine with pretending like there had never been a Nikko Leonid on the face of this earth. If only he wouldn’t make it so hard to! Images of leaping across the table to strangle him accosted Jean, but once again, she swallowed her anger and her pride and resumed her notes.  _ In the past week-- _

     He was such a mystery, though! It was destined that she would be interested with him. This was a story she just had to g--

     No, she had to push this thought down and focus on her current scribblings, but the question of where he had disappeared to plagued her mind. After a few minutes of fighting it, she finally succumbed. It was useless fighting the journalist within. Sighing agitatedly, she set down her pen and begrudgingly looked his way. “Where did you go during class today?” Jean’s voice speared through the silence that had settled between them.

     Immediately, he threw all of his trash and food onto his tray and with an irritated glance moved to another almost-empty table. This boy was an injury to her pride! What had  _ she _ done?  _ He _ was the one with the attitude! Steaming, she went back to her notes and resumed them angrily, muttering curses on a certain black-haired devil.

 

     The rest of lunch produced nothing. Jean couldn’t focus on her next broadcast so, angrily, she shut her notebook and stabbed at her leftover pasta. Usually, Jean would have eaten from the cafeteria menu, but since her “The Surprise is Food Poisoning” report, she thought it would be bad for publicity. None of the pasta really made it to her mouth: she was still too angry to eat. Somehow, the mystery that made up Nikko Leonid and the fact he uprooted her pride made him get to her. Besides, intriguing or not, he still scared her. That only added to her anger. Someone like him shouldn’t frighten her, but something emanated from him that scared her beyond hope.

     She watched Aron at another table with his friends. Like usual, he stayed to himself and only muttered responses with that quirky ghost of a smirk on his face. She wished she could go over there or that he would be close enough it wouldn’t be weird for him to saunter over here. Plus, either way, she would hope he would strike up the conversation if he did come – and he probably wouldn’t do either.

     She sighed and swirled the pasta around, forming a small hill of curly yellow parts. Sure, Jean had friends, but not the sit-with-you-at-lunch type of friends. More of the I-only-like-you-because-you’re-popular kind (even if in the long run no one even bothered listening to her reports.) Which she didn’t mind. She liked the quiet. Jean always wanted to sit by herself. A full table was just too noisy. You could never get anyone to shut up, and overlapping voices all trying to dominate the conversation made her head so scrambled. So maybe Aron’s distance was a good thing. Jean consoled herself with this thought.

     However, she had to give up on the pasta and close the container. She’d eat more of it later. Right now, she had too much to think about – the top of the list being the inevitable abomination of detention.

* * *

     Detention was exactly what was expected – a mob of slackers and others of a repulsive kind. Jean instinctively sat toward the front, for who would sit there in detention? Certainly, any foul figures would be drawn to the back and repelled from a “goody” like her. At least, she hoped so. The last thing she needed was a delinquent neighbor. However, some grudges may be held against her. She was locked up in the same cell she had most likely confined others to. That was not a good thought. In addition to this, homework was banned from being pulled out or done during detention. This rule was only because detention was considered a punishment and apparently doing your homework wasn’t because it “relieved afterschool concentration.” Jean herself believed homework should be a part of detention, as it would be a punishment to those there. She added a news report on this very predicament to her crowded mental corkboard. But, for now, she was stuck with this crowd of acquaintances, strangers, and maybe some possible enemies.

     Chin in her palm, Jean watched the clock's second hand tick slowly around. She would have to endure two weeks of this: an hour of her time wasted while stories were out there, waiting to be found!

     And suddenly, an opportunity presented itself, in the form of the newest detention attendee wandering in and slouching down into his seat. Apparently he was such a regular that he practically owned the desk he was in. You could tell by the way he casually sauntered up to it, already knowing where he was going to sit. Also, there was the fact that everyone avoided this desk like the plague. Of course, this was only evident to Jean because she paid attention to him. Anyone else was probably entirely ignorant of his presence.

     Just her luck, Nikko's seat happened to be in the front -- right next to hers. But the thought that this was actually perfect dawned on her right on time. Eagerly clearing her throat, she waited for him to turn his head. When he finally did, a groan and a sneer was all she received before he resumed staring off in the other direction.

     “What are you in here for?” Jean leaned in closer, purposely invading his personal bubble -- the spiky bubble no one should ever invade. This sent a chill up her spine. Whether of fear or excitement, she didn’t know. She got a few weird looks from people in her row, but the teacher running detention hadn’t looked up yet.

     A small snicker escaped his lips. “You just have all the questions, don't you?” And apparently it was customary for him to speak in a normal voice as well without having to worry about getting shushed. He looked so smug: clearly he was right at home and she was just an outsider.

     “And you never have any of the answers.” Crossing her arms, Jean stared him down, trying to suppress that chill still working its way up her spine that she was now very sure was of fear.

     She couldn't stifle it any longer when his beady eyes locked with hers. “Are you really that desperate for a story?”

     If Jean weren’t so flustered, she'd be terrified. But his comment had ruffled her feathers just enough to overwhelm the horror. “ _ Desperate?!” _ This earned her a fierce “ **SHH** !” from the teacher supervising detention. She quickly lowered her voice and her head as she continued, “I’ll have you know that I have plenty of amazing stories lined up!”

     With a renewed smirk on his lips, and a switchblade (retrieved from his pocket) that he began to clean his fingernails with, he only uttered four words: “Then go write them.”

     So amazed was Jean by the sight before her that her voice rose an octave as she sputtered, “A switchblade?! Are--Are those even allowed here?!”

     Without looking up, Nikko shook the blade at her nonchalantly. “Why don't you do one of your little… ya know, news thingies on it?”

     That just about did it.

     Immediately Jean slammed her hands on her desk and jumped from her seat. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she hissed to no one in particular. And, without a care if she got in trouble, stormed out the door and down the hall.


	2. Chrysalis

> _ Chapter Two:  _ _ Chrysalis _
> 
>  

     Detention for the next two weeks went just about the same way, even when she didn’t sit anywhere close to Nikko. It was like his very presence angered her. However, more often than not it was just pure unadulterated fear: he still chilled her to the bone.

     As for her job, Jean kept shelling out stories every morning with a new sense of purpose. She was Jean Janis freaking Parker! Her stories were excellent! She wasn’t desperate! Although she hated him for it she had to admit that Nikko drove her to nigh-perfection. More people were paying attention to her stories and the principal had even remarked that one of them was a “job well done.” Even Aron was starting to notice Jean’s new drive. But none of this helped to calm her fear and she vowed to one day find out what made this irrational phobia so... _ palpable _ .

     By the time the weekend of the second week came, Jean was extremely relieved. Yes, Mr. Curette had won this round -- and yes, he would be smug -- but at least he would soften a bit. Maybe? And most of all, Jean no longer had to endure the hour-long bane of her existence. She now had two days to herself to get her mind, and most importantly her schoolwork, back in order. She was ready to buckle down and get some more stories worked out, already studying and triaging her mental corkboard when Aron sprinted up to her, looking concerned. Jean wrote it off as nothing. He ran up, his peach-fuzz head bobbing, and doubled over to catch his breath.

     Okay, maybe it wasn’t nothing then. _ I wasn’t walking that fast _ , thought Jean,  _ Was I? _ Of course, the rejection of that idea opened the door for a stampede of new ones.  _ Then something bad’s happened! _ Jean was usually a composed person, but perhaps the stress lately had been getting to her; because by the time Aron finally caught his breath she had already imagined dozens of horrible possibilities. She may have been doing fantastic lately, but there was no doubt her overachieving  may have pushed her just a  little too hard.

     This realization made it a bit easier to hear what Aron had to say. Rubbing at his peach fuzz, he gave Jean a sheepish look before finally spilling, “You’ve been working really hard. And though you’ve been doing really great, I think it’s time you took a break. Reap the benefits of your hard work: enjoy yourself this weekend, ya know? Don’t stress yourself out anymore.” The weird look on Aron’s face cemented the fact that this was the longest speech he’d ever said to Jean. The look on her face probably proved everything he’d just said.

     Aron cleared his throat awkwardly after a minute or so, and with a quick “Have a good weekend!” took off far more quickly than he ever had before through the double doors, pulling a neon beanie over his peachy head.

 

     And so it was that Jean ended up in a pizza place, kids screaming all around her, on a Friday night. She sat there apathetically, picking at her supreme pizza but never really eating more than a few nibbles.  _ Is this what teenagers consider ‘fun?’  _ Jean glanced around her, but there were no teenagers to be found. ... _ Guess not _ .

     Sure, it probably would have been better if she had actually ordered a pizza she liked, but Jean had figured if she was going to ‘have fun’ why not try something new? She was now regretting even considering that option. So much for ‘relax.’

     She had just forced another minuscule bite of stringy, greasy cheese when she spotted a familiar nest of black hair a few yards from her.  **_CRAP!_ ** Jean almost choked on the contents of her throat as she struggled to evacuate the premises as soon as possible. She had just made a mad dash for the trash can to dump her half-eaten meal when an all-too-familiar sarcastic presence phased behind her. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you here?”

     The foreboding  **THANK YOU** on the trash can lid was like a slap to the face, creaking out a giggle as it swung and slowed to a stop. Jean fought the urge to walk out the bright glass doors that were just a few feet further. She was so close! However, being civil seemed like the only escape route at this point. “Isn’t this where teenagers come to, ya know, ‘chill?’”

     She noticed Nikko’s battle to stifle a laugh but chose to ignore it. When he finally gained composure of himself, he answered, “Well, you’re about three decades behind on that one, but yeah, I guess. Of course, children are more likely to now.” After a glance around, he added blandly, “Actually the only reason so many kids are here is because of a birthday party.”

     Jean spared a look around herself, and then, squinting, analytically eyed the group forming around another table. “Is that what’s going on here?”

     Trying so hard to stifle another chuckle, Nikko casually leaned against the side of the trash can, looking her up and down. “You don’t really get out much, do you?”

     It was a rhetorical question. Of course. He wasn’t expecting an answer, especially not the frank one Jean immediately gave him. “No,” she replied simply, a blank look plastered on her face.

     Nikko’s expression took on a reaction somewhere between complete shock and an uncontrollable fit of laughter, but Jean chose to ignore it yet again to ask the one question that had been nagging her since he had decided to ruin her fun: “So if this allegedly  _ isn’t _ the place teenagers hang out, then what are you doing here? Hmm?” She was done being civil. The journalist had taken over.

     With a look of sheer disbelief, he scoffed and stated, “Pizza is the best food this planet has to offer,” like it was the most obvious thing. “So may I ask again why I have the pleasure of meeting you here? It couldn’t  _ possibly _ be because of an innocent comment made by li’l ole me that you’re seeking entertainment.” He fluttered his eyelashes innocently, tricking her with such a blank look that anyone would think he was blameless. Jean wasn’t fooled. Jean would never be fooled. “Not that you haven’t been doing  _ fantastic _ because of my comment, but I’m glad you’re finally taking some time to relax.”  _ Can he get any more patronizing? _ Jean probably shouldn't ask that.

     She tried to stab right through him with a look laced with venom and disgust, but, of course, Nikko wasn’t fazed. While trying to stare him down, Jean finally got a look clear enough to cement his features in her mind -- not that they weren't already practically memorized. And though she tried to help it, she found her eyes trailing along his face to etch it in her memory.

     There was the black that curtained the chub of its edges: it was long and wavy and stringy. Then the eyes these curtains hid: all black and deep and foreboding in their almond-shaped capsules. She’d always thought he’d worn eyeliner like a typical goth; but no, the intensity of his eyes and the dark bags beneath them were natural, along with the deep sockets they resided in. Then his nose with the defined bridge and rounded tip with a slight curl to it. But the mouth was what hardened his expression the most. His jaw was always clamped and the broad line that was his mouth always tight, giving the illusion of no lips. But they were there, thin and pale as death. All these features made up the most terrifying face Jean had ever known, but somehow she couldn’t look away even though her throat tightened and her newly-eaten dinner threatened to force its way up. Something about him felt wrong, very wrong. And the feeling that she shouldn’t be associating with this character was only growing stronger.

     This deep examination of his face didn’t escape Nikko’s notice. Neither did the fact that the more Jean studied him, the more her glare softened. At this, a rare grin swept across his face and he suddenly proposed, almost in a whisper and with a hint of danger to his tone, “Lemme show you what fun really is.”

     Jean, lost in this stupid daze of fear, let herself be dragged out of the pizza parlour and into the parking lot, where they continued down a row of cars until they reached the end. She shot a puzzled look Nikko’s way when he continued pulling her, “No car?” she croaked out, immediately horrified by her voice, “Aren’t we going to drive wherever you’re going?”

     The grin widened, even more sinister now. “Nah. It’s not that far. And plus,” winking, “walking’s more fun, right?”

     “Right,” Jean whispered, not wanting to disagree with the devil that had ahold of her arm.

 

     They walked along the sidewalk for a good while, the sounds of traffic making conversation dubious. So Jean kept silent beside this suddenly beastly mystery of hers. The more she was frightened, the more the journalist in her wanted answers. It screamed for answers, while the rest of Jean was yelling at her that something just wasn’t right, and it had to do with  _ him _ . Of course, she had no choice but to follow her instinct, which just so happened to be made up of the journalist. In short, she knew she was screwed. What scared Jean the most, though, was that she didn’t even care.

 


	3. Anomaly

_ Chapter 3:  _ Anomaly

‘Fun’ happened to be a dark, cruddy park in the middle of the night. Jean wondered what her parents would think of this, but then remembered that they had often encouraged her to stay out on weekends. If push came to shove, she was resorting to twisting their words as ammunition. It's not like she was doing anything bad, right? ...Just gallivanting off with a strange and terrifying boy at night. This thought made her bite her lip and sink lower into her swing. How in the world had she allowed him to take her from the pizza place? She'd been having enough fun there! With an exasperated sigh, she settled back and started to swing.  _ Might as well go along with it, now that I'm here. _

Nikko was currently whooping and going on like a child on the playground. Who knew someone so terrifying had an inner child? Jean certainly hadn't. And though she appreciated seeing this rare side of him, her suddenly-pounding head didn't. It was just too much to take in.

Who in their right mind would let this demon lead them off to a deserted park where anything could happen? And so was Jean Janis Parker painted the idiot. She skidded to a stop and resumed her slouch with a low groan.

 

But the fun didn't stop there! Apparently, Nikko was on a roll and insisted that they “take a waltz about the lake.” It was only then that Jean noticed the monstrosity of a duck pond that half-surrounded the park. Really, where were all the people? It was Las Vegas, for Pete's sake! The pounding in Jean's head only strengthened every time she looked at Nikko, so she kept quiet, eyes cast downward, and walked slowly as Nikko skipped on ahead.

“Honestly, I don't know why you haven't been here before,” he called over his shoulder, never missing a step in his skip. Jean wondered the same. It was a nice enough place, run-down in some areas but caution tape be damned. Decent writing place; stellar brainstorming place. Suddenly, she felt so stupid for never venturing outside for more than five minutes. What a silly notion. Jean ventured to look up at Nikko, but the angry white noise in her head made her eyes shoot back down. Why did he make her head hurt so badly? There was so much about him she wanted to question, but that sick feeling that she shouldn't even be acknowledging him made her question if she  _ really _ wanted those answers.

She plopped down right there on the sidewalk while the sass-monster that was Nikko kept skipping on ahead, oblivious. She needed to think this through. What the heck was she even doing here? Yes, she needed to get out more, but this wasn't exactly the way to start off doing so. Had she been so blinded by fear that she hadn't even thought to refuse and go home?

In fact, that's what she was going to do right now: go home. She hoisted her bag full of pens and notebooks – she'd picked that up before he dragged her around? – and set off down the sidewalk back toward the park. It was eerily quiet this late at night; the wind caused small ripples down the lake and Jean's grey Vans scuffed softly on the pavement, but that was all the sound there really was. It was kind of frightening. This kind of silence really itched at Jean, only making that white noise in her head grow stronger. She picked up her pace, wanting to get home as quickly as possible.

Sure, she felt just a bit bad about leaving Nikko here, but he seemed self-reliant enough. And she needed to get away from him. There was something very not-right here; and, for a rare moment of her life, Jean didn't want to find out what it was.

That idea drove her into walking even faster, eyes cast downward and right hand gripping at her backpack's shoulder strap. After a few hasty steps bringing her ever closer to the park itself, she slammed into something solid and found herself suddenly sprawled on her butt. Jean almost had a mini heart attack when she looked up to find Nikko's sunken beady eyes far too up-close and personal. He was looming over her, bent at an impossible angle to shove his face in hers. It was almost cartoon-like and his hair was akin to that of an anime character, adding to the effect. His hands were on his hips and his face wore a comical pissed-off expression.

Honestly, it  _ was _ nice seeing this more playful side of Nikko; but, if she were really honest, it also terrified Jean. One would only have to watch a few thrillers to know that the innocent is most often deadly. Still... Those terrifying eyes seemed softer, his deadly pale thin lips were now pulled into a small smirk (he couldn't hold the scowl), and his whole presence was playful now rather than horrifying. Jean couldn't help but think this new Nikko was refreshing and to immediately feel guilty for even thinking of leaving.

Realizing he was smiling now, Nikko immediately pulled a scowl again and crossed his arms, puffing to blow some of his shaggy hair out of his face. He straightened up and glared down his nose at Jean. “Oh, so you thought you’d just leave, huh? After I went through all that trouble to show you fun. Some show of gratitude.”   
This was the moment Jean realized she’d found her Rubicon. Usually she’d be frustrated and at the end of her rope and demand that he “take his ‘fun’ and shove it,” especially since this was Nikko Leonid, the most irritating and terrifying creature she’d ever had the displeasure of breathing the same air as. But she wasn’t. She didn’t. And all she felt was… _ guilt _ . She didn’t have time to process any of this raging mental conflict, though; because suddenly there was a hand thrust into her line of vision and a mental nagging that the proper etiquette was to grab it and haul herself off the dirty sidewalk. And that’s how she knew. That was the point, right there. She couldn’t just dip her foot in the river: it was either dive or run, grab his hand or go home with her tail between her legs. It was that simple. It was that terrible, that one tiny little thing determined her life onward. But she could feel it, and the journalist in her was practically screaming to “just snatch that frickin’ hand!”   
It was almost comical, how Nikko just waited patiently (albeit with a bit of diva spirit if that huff had any weight to it) while this soap opera life-pinnacle movie climax crap played out within the synapses of Jean’s brain. And in a moment the decision was made. Logic jumped ship, the journalist roared in victory, Jean grinned, and her fingers finally snatched the slender but stubby ones of the nightmare that had haunted her for years. As he hauled her up, Jean realized one surely-insignificant thing: from the moment she touched him, her headache had disappeared.

Her Rubicon was freezing and deep and dark, but she was satisfied.   


 

Nikko knew a lot of undiscovered gems in town, all costing little or nothing. He even showed Jean how fun it could be to sneak into the drainage wash (to add to the illegal things she was now doing) near her neighbourhood after she told him where she lived (to add to the list of stupid things she had now done). Jean had always been scared of that place, all overgrown vines and rumours of hobos and news stories of skaters dying because they were attempting to make it a half pipe; but now she could certainly see the merit of it after they cut a bit through the overgrowth and Nikko’s dramatic courage rubbed off on her. Why had she been so stuck-up about all of this before? In fact, Nikko seemed to have that effect on her: all her predetermined misconceptions seemed to fade away as stupidity. It made her feel like complete rubbish, but all this was certainly proving something to her.

 

She was definitely going to have to twist her parents’ words against them.  **Holy crapola** , was she getting home late. Albeit on a not-school-night, but still a little too late to just say she’d lost track of time at the library following a lead, or some other studious-sounding excuse that had always been the truth before. Always. All lights were off, even the porch lamp, but none of that meant her dad wasn’t waiting ominously in the dark for her to creep inside and hope she got away with it, only to have him flick on the lamp and spin around in the recliner with a grim look marring his features. Yikes…   
Apparently, Nikko saw all this play out on her face, because he sniggered and stated rather than asked, in a very matter-of-fact way, “Never snuck out before, huh?” Like he’d done it  _ so many times _ that sneaking back in was something effortless that Jean just wasn’t grasping the simplicity of. Okay, maybe she was reading far too much into one snigger and statement, but damnit! He had been making her feel like that for a while now. He’d apparently done a lot of things Jean would have never considered, as she grasped from their night of “This is what fun feels like.” And  _ sure _ ,  _ okay _ , that may hold a bit of superiority over Jean’s very small list of ‘fun’ she’d ever had, but this was just ridiculous.

“Okay, just take a deep breath and brace yourself for anything,” she puffed out and did just that. With a -- what she assumed was supposed to be -- reassuring thumbs up from Nikko, Jean softly slid her key into the lock and clicked it to the left. Thank goodness they had no pets – her mom was allergic – so she wouldn’t have to worry about them giving her away. Slowly, she stepped over the threshold, careful not to scuff her shoes because any little noise she made usually echoed far louder throughout her house’s open floor plan. Leaving the door open to avoid a long squeak, she tiptoed into the wide den to see if her fears were realized. There, just as she had predicted, the lamp clicked on, the recliner spun, and her dad’s put-on ‘you should know better’ face greeted her.

“Young lady…” And there it was. The patronization had reared its ugly head and revelled in its triumph. Jean almost winced, but instead held herself high, braced for impact. “What exactly were you doing out so late?” Involuntarily, her eyes shot over to the clock. Ouch, it really was late. How had she stayed out that long? With Nikko, of all people?  **4:36** was far too late for him to buy that she had been doing anything studious, but it never hurt to try, right?

“I…got…reallyinvolvedinanewsstoryand… Well, you know me! Can’t leave ‘til every rock is overturned!” Okay, she sounded far too uppity for any of that to be taken seriously. Great, now her dad was going to think she’d gotten high.  _ Good luck digging out of that one, genius _ . Just for good measure, she grinned in what she hoped was a ‘this is your li’l angel we’re talking about’ way, but probably only made her look even higher.

“Jean Janis Parker…” he practically growled. She winced at the middle name usage. Even if that was her reporter name, his use of it was  _ so _ not good. He didn’t have to say anymore. The truth was coming out now.

Robed and slippered and half-asleep looking or not, her dad was not to be trifled with. Denny Lewis Parker was a man on fire right now and the very image of parental force. He was  _ not _ to be trifled with.

“I was out on the town with—” she blurted out, starting to gesture out the still-open door to the front lawn to point out Nikko, only to realize he’d evaporated. All colour drained from her face, Jean dropped her gesturing thumb. “Friends,” rolled slowly off her tongue and plopped to the floor.

All at once, the façade slipped and her dad jumped up with a too-wide grin on his narrow face. “ **You have** **_friends_ ** ?!” And then she was trapped in a smothering hug and realizing exactly how wrong it had been to use that word. As she struggled to breathe within the mess of cotton around her, she decided one fateful thing: she really was friends with Nikko now, as weird as that sounded. As weird as that  _ was _ . No matter how much she denied it, there was a pull toward him she’d been ignoring for years. Between fear and curiosity, she wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.

 

Her father had finally realized she needed to sleep and had begrudgingly let her go to bed without further explanation. But now, this morning, she was facing an eerily wide-awake Denny Lewis armed with coffee and banana nut muffins and there would be no escape. Thank the heavens her mom was away on one of her many business trips, or she’d be facing an over-exuberant Penny Lane Parker (Jean’s grandparents had a unique sense of humour) as well and would have been hemmed in.

In a roundabout way, she told him about her new friendship, very vaguely avoiding that he was both goth and male. Her father didn’t pry. He was happy enough in the fact that Jean finally had a social life, and that kind of scared her. Was he really more concerned with the fact that she was  _ being _ social rather than  _ who _ she was being social with? Had Jean really progressed so far into loneliness that her parents were desperate for her to have  _ any _ friends?

 

This haunted her the rest of the weekend, making her flip between a complete denial of her earlier revelation ( _ This weekend changed nothing! _ ) and deeply considering actually trying to bond with Nikko. She was right in the middle of the first stage when she heard an unfamiliar sound. It sounded like...a boiling pot...or a hot tub. But cartoony-like. What? Jean had been lounging on her bed, practising the foreign concept of relaxation, while she warred mentally; but now she rolled over to see her nightstand lighting up. What…? Oh, wait. Not her nightstand, her Blackberry. And on that lit-up screen was...a text? Jean rarely texted if she could avoid it. There was very little that couldn’t be done over the phone or over email, and those were more professional. Texting was so...barbaric. Email made far more sense to her. So that’s where that sound was coming from. She picked up the Blackberry and flipped through a few screens to view the message.

One word:  **Yo**

But it wasn’t that that caught Jean’s attention. It was the sender. “ **YA BOI Nikko** , semicolon P,” she read aloud. First of all, what the heck was _that_ supposed to mean? Second, _how_ did _he_ get _her_ number? And lastly, **_how was he in her contacts_**? _I’m not answering. No way. This weekend changed nothing_ , she reiterated, but then watched in horror as her fingers typed out **Hello there** of their own accord. The journalist had won again.

The Blackberry was flung across the room like a spider and not acknowledged until Monday morning.

 

Nikko was acting weird. But then again, when was that not common? Of course, not weird as in ‘different from how he normally acted’ weird, but ‘acting exactly the same’ weird. The usual Nikko weird. He never once tried to spark a conversation, he glared at her all through class, and so on and so forth. He was as Nikko Leonid as ever...like this weekend had never happened.

The more she tried to puzzle this out, the more that blasted headache pulsed in her skull -- the flavour of headache Nikko had left his brand on. Nevertheless, she stared right at Nikko the more he stared at her, no matter how much his stare pulsed against her temples.

However, by the end of the day she was so addled and so choleric that everything was just angry white noise. She slammed her locker closed and leaned against it, trying to deep-breathe through this. Aron hurried by, sparing a sympathetic, if not nervous, smile over her way. She carefreely saluted him and tilted her head back against the cold steel, closing her eyes and relishing the contrast to her overheated scalp. The headache was reaching its peak, which, while extremely painful, meant it would pass soon. She listened to all the students pass, rowdy for a Monday, giggling and complaining and just making a whole helluva lot of racket.  _ My word, do they ever shut up _ ?! Pain flared in the right side of her skull as all noise blurred together into one big mess, growing  **louder** **_and louder_ ** **_andlouderAND_ ** \--

**_OOF!_ ** Jean was off the locker and sprawling on her backside in record time. Her eyes sprung open as she hit the floor, sliding a bit, and caught a flash of black. The headache spiked severely.

Off in a flash, Jean was at his heels as he took off through the heavy pushbar door. Huffing, she swung it open so forcefully there was a resounding snap when it bounced against its limit. Once through the door, she scoured the small porch above the parking lot. She was out for blood. When no target was found, she was about to search the lot when she felt hot breath on her ear. It was  _ he _ .

Jean froze, both literally and physically. All colour and energy drained from her while she stood in shock and mild terror. The breath sent an unwarranted crackle down her spine and her hair stood on end like she’d experienced a static shock.

“Gotta keep up appearances, huh?” the far-too-familiar voice breathed. She could hear the wink in it, almost see him grinning sarcastically.

By the time she’d recovered, the breath was gone from her ear and so was he.


	4. Ripple Effect

> _ Chapter Four:  _ _ Ripple Effect _

 

The next two weeks flew by so quickly that the details of which were lost to Jean. All she could recall was a feeling of being ungrounded. Something had changed, and she didn’t know what, but whatever it was was huge and had unbalanced everything else in her life. She felt as if on the edge of a cliff she couldn’t see, not wanting to know the undiscovered truth that gave her this feeling. Because if she did, where she stood on the edge would be revealed and off she would tumble into the chasm beyond.

This fear dominated her dreams. They were never nightmares, but she would shoot awake in a cold sweat, irrational fear making her paranoid. However, it was the most excitement so far in those two weeks. School held enough redundancy to keep her occupied, but somehow the routine she had once loved no longer entertained her. Whatever had changed had skewered her view of life as well.

Jean had a lot of time to mull over this, though, because for the next week she had to ‘rest:’ as a reward for her hard work, according to Aron. He’d said Amelia told him, which probably meant she’d just said it to get more stories for herself.

It didn’t really matter to Jean. Since Nikko had shown her what fun really meant, she had sort of gotten the hang of it. This free time meant she could now take up her new hobby: drawing. It also gave her more time outside to think and just enjoy the sun and small breezes every now and then.

It was one of those very times that all the world seemed quiet. It was a peace she usually didn’t stop to enjoy. It was enough to block out, if only for a few hours, the storm raging in Jean’s head. The storm Nikko had set in motion.

Speaking of Nikko, he’d made no attempt to change his behaviour in the past two weeks. Like he’d said, they were ‘keeping up appearances.’ The journalist didn’t like this very much and kept wanting to question Jean’s reaction to him, but the rest of her was adamant about not disrupting this new peace.

Closing her eyes, she soaked up her surroundings and let the peace and quiet flow through her, allowing it to dislodge all her worries and relax everything else. Jean didn’t know much about meditation, but this was her brand. It was almost like involuntarily doing paperwork in her mind. File, lock away, repeat. All the underlying terror? Filed away in a locked cabinet. All the confusion surrounding he-who-shall-not-be-named-during-meditation? Filed even deeper. Leave it to Jean as a reporter to meditate by mentally doing office work. But it was soothing. Peace did the work for her. By the time she opened her eyes back up, she was relaxed enough to work on her drawing.

The act of drawing was peaceful, but the ‘art’ itself turned out...not so peaceful. Jean gazed at it with mild concern. Completely unintentionally she’d drawn an eye. Not a very good one, but that wasn’t the point. It was dilated, eyelids stretched wide in terror. She supposed if it was in colour, she’d be able to see the blue of the iris, the blown capillaries all along the eyeball, and the dark purple bags lining the bottom eyelid. Was this... _ her _ ? The sketchbook was promptly snapped closed and the concern filed away in a second bout of meditation.

 

Jean waited in a spare classroom for the afterschool rush to dissipate. She didn’t want to disturb her peace with the chaos she’d experienced a week ago. It was almost devoid of furniture aside from a stack of chairs to the side and dark because she hadn’t dared to turn the light on. And Nikko… Nikko couldn’t find her in here. Not that she was scared. Not. At. All. She reiterated this to her  _ now _ -shaking self. Crap. Another round of mental filing? Her exhausted secretary mind solemnly shook its head. Okay, so...what? Why did telling herself she  _ wasn’t _ scared of Nikko make her start uncontrollably shaking?  _ There _ , she thought, matter-of-factly,  _ Let’s start at the source.  _  The journalist in her practically cracked her neck and fingers and got to work. Being unbiased -- as a journalist should be -- and completely insensitive -- as most journalists unfortunately are, it spat the answer right away.  _  You’re scared of him. Terrified. He’s haunted you for years and you’re trying to just Zen that away? Not happ’nin’, sweetheart. _

Well… That answered that. But there was still that follow-up  _ Why _ ? that had been haunting her for a while as well. Part of the answer was obvious: of course he scared her; his childish antics were downright creepy. Much like the  _ Chucky _ movies, honestly. The majority of it, however… There was still so much she hadn’t uncovered about him, and that made the journalist inside her yearn to be around him. That was scary as well, that a part of her was so desperate for answers to put herself in harm’s way and to befriend the one person that terrified her. She needed answers, not just in the journalism way of needing answers. She needed answers period. She needed answers now.

The clatter and blur of obnoxious teenagers was fading to a dull roar outside the door. Did she dare venture out there? Jean had just grabbed the doorknob to inch out into the hall when she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Fearing it was Nikko, she flipped to press her back against the door before she even knew what she was doing. ...But nothing was there. What?  Jean looked around frantically. There it was again! What was that?

Again, Jean whipped her head back and forth, but whatever was in the corner of her sight disappeared when she looked straight at wherever it happened to be. That was...weird. After a few more tries, she gave up, telling herself she just needed to relax today. Thankfully, it was the weekend and she could do just that. There, that was what she needed. Forget all these questions about Nikko and whatever the heck that was a few seconds ago and just do what Nikko had finally clued her in on: having fun.

Deep breath, and then she was practically catapulting out the door. Thankfully, not many people were in the hall anymore, so it gave Jean ample opportunity to scamper away and shoot out the pushbar door. Well, more like slowly, painfully heave the heavy pushbar door open; but she wasn’t counting that. Once outside, she surveyed the parking lot far below the concrete patio and got hit with a huge wave of deja vu. Oh, crap, was Nikko going to shoot out of nowhere again? Jean braced herself for it…

And was slightly disappointed.  _ Wait, what _ ?!  _ Why am I disappointed _ ?! Before she even had a chance to address that, Jean was blindsided by the fact that she had just endured a 100% Nikko-free day. What even…? When was the last time that had happened? What sorcery was this? And between all the mind tricks and meditation sessions,  she hadn’t even gotten a chance to enjoy it . In fact, if she thought about it, Jean had been more stressed out today than she even had when Nikko had scared the crap out of her on this very same patio. All she wanted to do was just plop down on her butt and shut off her mind. But… But she couldn’t. She needed to get down those stairs, hop in her truck, and drive like mad toward home, where she could get comfy and get thinking. Jean always did her best thinking in pyjamas. A comfy body was a comfy mind.

The ride home had her even more stressed. Her mind was everywhere and every other driver on the road seemed just as distracted, resulting in numerous close calls.  _ What is going on today _ ?

By the time Jean got home, she was shaking terribly. Thank goodness her dad was at one of her school’s games -- a game she should be at in order to report about it, but she wasn’t working. He’d probably be back in about an hour or so, but that was long enough for her to calm down.  _ Comfy clothes. NOW. _ Comfy clothes happened to be an oversized mint sweater (well, it mostly fit her: Grandma Lane had just made the sleeves a bit too long) and an old ratty pair of red basketball shorts and some rainbow toe socks, all of which had to be the most comfortable items of clothing ever made. Wrapped in these, Jean flopped on the loveseat in the family game room, trusty notebook in hand.

 

So the shaking had stopped, however, Jean had been sitting here at least fifteen minutes and still had a blank page in front of her. That angry white noise was back and growing louder every time she tried to organize her now-wrecked mental corkboard. There was some link she was missing and her own mind wasn’t helping one bit. The shaking may have stopped, but the front of her sweater was practically...pulsing? It took Jean a bit to figure out her heart was hammering so hard at this point it was literally moving her sweater. Whoa.

Jean immediately dropped her notebook and gulped down as much of her green tea as she could, finishing the mug, no matter how lukewarm and nasty it was by this point. Green tea would help. Green tea was the cure to all ills. And yet, once she finished, all she had was an empty mug and a bad aftertaste in her mouth. What was Nikko doing to her? Or, more to the point, what was she doing to herself?

 

Late that night, after her dad raves about the game and laments that Jean wasn’t there and dances around rapping off-rhythm while making pancakes for dinner and slathers them in so much syrup Jean can barely taste the pancake and somehow manages to have a one-sided conversation with Jean without choking and finally realizes Jean isn’t doing so hot and rather than push her says his goodnight and heads to bed early, Jean does something she hasn’t since she was a tiny daredevil. She can’t sleep and she can’t write and she can’t draw and she can’t plan and she can’t even think; so she uses the towering pine tree, that always manages to get sap all over her window and pine needles through it somehow, to heave herself on top of her roof.

Since she can’t puzzle her way through anything more important, she puzzles why she stopped being such a daredevil. Jean used to be the little kid finding the tallest playground equipment and backflipping off of it, growling in disappointment when she didn’t stick her landing in the pre-planned spot, regardless of whether she’d stuck a landing at all. She’d come home with bruises and gushing knees that had to be kissed and plastered in waterproof Star Wars band-aids, pigtails with all sorts of odds and ends stuck in them, and an ambition that still wasn’t satisfied. What had changed? Well, obviously, that ever-hungry ambition had taken her this far, but what had she lost in the process? Jean laid back on her shingle roof, a bit uncomfortable, but satisfied watching the probably-already-dead stars flicker through thin clouds above her.

Flickering. Like earlier. Like that-- No. NO. She was not going to think about that. She had another puzzle to solve. That she actually  _ could _ solve. Now, where was she? Okay, ambition, yes. Ambition had prodded her into attending the first school news club meeting, and before that ambition and curiosity had prodded her into making Journalism her dream. Of course, school news club meant research and research meant interviews and paperwork and long hours at the library. Somewhere, daredevil Jean had withered away under Jean Janis Parker. Maybe… Maybe she had needed Nikko after all…

At that thought, Jean shivered and shifted uncomfortably. In fact, she was really uncomfortable. Curse bony shoulder blades and Nevada shingles! She flopped onto her side, but that caused a particular shingle to burrow into the small space between two ribs. Ugh! Why wasn’t this as fun as when she was a kid?! Flustered, Jean shot up and whipped her head around to curse the shingle that dare offend her. Only to find all shingles straight and orderly, if a bit chipped, and a small rock with a note wrapped around it. How…?

She wasn’t even going to question things anymore. Nope. Forget it. She didn’t need to know how this got up here or how she’d missed it or how the messenger got the paper folded around the rock without a rubber band. She didn’t need to know anything else. She didn’t need to solve any of it. At all. She was just going to open up that note, probably hurl the rock at something, find out what was written, and then just forget about it. Simple. It was probably the universe torturing her with yet another puzzle. Jean stopped herself from very nearly flipping off the probably-already-dead stars. She busied her fingers with figuring out how to detach the paper from the rock.

When she was finally able to pry it off the rock, said rock went flying off the roof and probably down the pine tree. But Jean didn’t care because she was focused on the cryptic note in front of her. It wasn’t cryptic because it really was some ancient puzzle sent from space. It was actually quite simple. What was cryptic  _ was _ the simplicity.

  
  


     Written in hasty script were three lines:

**_WASH_ **

**_ALONE_ **

**_3 AM_ **

 

     Jean was totally going to forget about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now everything's starting to pick up!  
> I'm so mad I couldn't keep my formatting for this chapter. I had a special font for the note that made it actually look like how it's written. Oh well.  
> Please let me know what you think so far! Shit's about to hit the fan HARD.


	5. Catalyst

> _ Chapter Five:  _ _ Catalyst _

 

     She was totally ignoring it. Even when she slipped some thermals on under her basketball shorts. She was cold! Even when she snagged a late-night snack from the pantry. She was hungry! Even when she quietly crept through the door into the crisp night air. None of that meant she was paying any regard to that infantile note. Jean was just going for a walk. ...In the middle of the night. Times were stressful, okay?!

     She started to munch on one of the poppy seed muffins she’d brought. She had two. Two for  _ her _ . She hadn’t grabbed it for anyone else. It was just in case  _ she _ got hungry again. Jean’s feet mechanically took her to the street that had the gutter entrance to the drainage wash. It was in her neighbourhood for pity’s sake! Of course she was going to come across it on her walk!  _ And, I mean, it’s not even close to 3 AM. 2:30, tops. _ It wouldn’t hurt to slip down there. As long as she wasn’t there at 3:00 she’d still be ignoring the insignificant instructions of that note from the sky. She’d still be avoiding whatever puzzle the universe wanted her to solve. Right? Right. She was just reliving some of the fun Nikko had introduced her to.

     Maybe it wasn’t even about the wash. Maybe they just wanted her in the shower at 3 AM? ...But that was unthinkably pervy and creepy. No, it had to be something she needed to see in the shower at 3:00. Why didn’t she think of that?!

     Jean went to turn on her heel and march straight home but, like always, the journalist had won power over her body and she had already unknowingly slipped down into the wash. Squinting her eyes against the bright light in such suffocating darkness, Jean went to swipe at the top of her phone to turn on the flashlight when she focused on three blocky numbers:

#  **3:00**

Before the dread could even settle in her stomach, Jean glanced up from her phone to ch---

A ghastly face grinned in the fluorescent light, casting their features in a bizarre grotesque way. Jean’s discarded phone and Jean herself were both caught before they could make any sound, the former grabbed and shoved into a pocket and the latter’s scream muffled by her attacker’s hand.

They hissed into her ear, just making Jean shake harder, “SHH! They may be watching!”

Jean was dragged back into the overgrowth farther along the wash, frozen with fear. She ragdolled in her attacker’s arms until the anger kicked in. Jean Janis Parker was  **not** going out like this! Flailing with all four limbs, she scrabbled to find purchase on a knee or head or any of the many vines around her. However, any time she did, she was just yanked harder. Until finally…

Yes! She was free! What-- What had she done? No time for that. There was something she had to do before running. Rearing back, she shot her fist forward until it met with resistance and drove it through until she heard a snap. Satisfied, she turned to run but whoever this was was fast. They were on her in a flash, tackling her down and pinning her arms down and fiercely whispering “STOP” in her face. Spittle flecked Jean’s cheeks and their stale breath filled her nostrils, only fueling the fight part of her fight or flight. However, they’d foregone restraining her legs, so she was able to slither one out from under them and jab her heel into their ribs with enough force to roll her attacker off.

She should have run, but somehow she knew that, even if she could make it through the overgrowth, she wouldn’t get a chance to because they could just grab her ankle, making her slam her face into the pavement. And she didn’t want to risk blacking out. No, she...she had to make an advantage for herself. So she jumped on top of them, scratching at their face, then kneeing their stomach, then ripping off whatever overgrowth she could throw in their face, specifically their eyes. But her attacker knew what Jean was doing and shielded their face with one arm while the other darted toward their hip.

Oh God, they were packing, weren’t they? But no...no that would be bulky and have either clattered out or alerted Jean to its presence already. So it was a knife. It had to be. Risky or not, Jean scrambled up to run deeper into the overgrowth, when suddenly there was blinding light. Jean could suddenly see. Everything. Well, that was kind of an overstatement and an understatement all at once. She was blinded by dull blue and when she shut her eyes the light was still there, turning her eyelids baby pink.

Holding her hand out in front of her for guidance, Jean stumbled through the overgrowth, but blindly and clumsily enough that she snagged on several vines and her attacker was on her once again. Fingernails dug into her wrist and she was yanked to spin around.

The next few minutes were tense and silent, both adjusting to the lighting as the light dimmed. The light from Jean’s phone. She felt so stupid now. And in the new light appeared a face, still ghastly by the shadowing but now familiar. Deep black sockets, upturned nose, no lips.

Jean blinked. And blinked. And blinked a few more times for good measure. Rich anger bubbled up and overflowed into a primal yell. “YOU! You put that cryptic piece of crap on my roof. You  _ ATTACKED _ me! You  _ STOLE MY PHONE _ !  _ You almost KILLED me, asshole! _ Why did you--  **YOU! I’M GONNA KILL YOU!** ” But everything after ‘cryptic’ was now muffled by this not-so-stranger’s hand, which Jean proceeded to bite.

“Jean!  _ Take a chill pill!  _ **_God!_ ** ” Every word was punctuated by a shake of Jean’s arms and a spray of bloody spittle. The more Jean’s eyes adjusted, the more blood she noticed on Nikko’s face. This didn’t make her sympathize. In fact, it just made her angrier because it confirmed he was her attacker. However, before she could tear into him again, he was whisper-yelling once more. “YOU broke my  **NOSE** ! And clawed my face. I mean,  **GOD** , Jean. I wasn’t that scary! And lower your  _ damn voice _ . They’re listening, you frickin’ IDIOT!” He panted, letting go of Jean for a second to paw at his dirt-and-blood-caked face.

Jean used this second to her advantage and lunged forward to Vulcan-grip him, hoping it would work. Sadly, it didn’t and the nerd in Jean mourned. Never one to be perturbed, she screamed in his face instead. “You  **_attacked_ ** me! What the hell did you  **_expect_ ** me to do?! And… And  **_YOU_ ** left that INANE note to meet you down here then  **ATTACK ME** ?!” She still had ahold of the weak spot between neck and shoulder and squeezed again for good measure.

Nope. He was still not fazed. Crap! Nikko just scoffed. “What note? And  _ you’re _ the one wandering down here in the middle of the night, being as  **LOUD** as damn  **POSSIBLE** ! I was just telling you to be quiet and YOU attacked ME.”

A growl erupted from Jean’s throat and she advanced on him, not a finger on Nikko but pushing him back verbally. “Don’t you  _ DARE _ give me that! ‘Oh I was just telling you to be quiet. Jean is such a bully!’ Like  **HELL** you were! Warn someone next time, will you?! Maybe then you won’t get your poor nose broken! Next you’re gonna tell me you didn’t plant that note on my damn roof. Who else does crap like that, Nikko?!”

She was cut off before she could even finish with an indignant “I...I DIDN’T, Jean!” And he advanced on her, too.

They were face-to-face, panting with anger and indignation, fists clenching and unclenching in inactivity, for a few tense minutes. Jean didn’t answer his denial. She wouldn’t grace it with an answer. If she tried, it would be nothing but primal instincts. How dare he think her so stupid? He didn’t leave the note. Ha! Her head was pounding, like it always did around Nikko, but so hard this time it felt as if  _ it _ were what was pumping boiling blood through her body, not her heart. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her mind and vision clear, otherwise she’d be blinded with and doubled-over in pain.

Finally, Nikko cleared his throat and stepped back, suddenly timid. What had changed? He coughed and awkwardly shoved his hands in the pockets of the hoodie Jean suddenly noticed he had on. He was hiding something. “So…” he started off like they’d been in the middle of a casual conversation. “Do you…” insert forced cough “Do you happen to have the note with you?” He muttered it so offhandedly it was immediately suspicious. What was he hiding?

“Um, no… It’s back at the house,” Jean answered before she could even think.  _ Shit! If he thinks he’s coming back to my house… _

“Well then let’s go get it! I wanna see what this is all about.” But the second half of his statement was swallowed by Jean’s abrupt scream of “ **_NO_ ** !” followed by Nikko slamming his hand over her mouth again. “Jean?  **SHUT UP** ! Good LORD!” he whisper-screeched in her ear.

The burst of hot air in her ear made bile crawl up her throat. Her short stint of fight instinct hadn’t changed her inherent perception of him in the slightest. Why did her head pound whenever he was around? Why did he always churn her stomach? The journalist raged for answers again, but the “rational” part of Jean wanted nothing to do with Nikko ever again, his helping her be damned. So she compromised. Answers to this one event then she was gone. “Why?! Why do I have to shut up? Who’s this ‘they’ you keep talking about? Did ‘they’ send the note since YOU so obviously didn’t?”

The last question was asked sarcastically, but it was the one he latched onto. “Probably…” he stated as if it were no big deal. Which most definitely meant it was.

Jean waited for an answer to her other two questions but never got one. Nikko just handed her back her phone: they had both gotten used to the darkness by now. Her finger hovered over the power button. All she’d have to do is press 3 numbers and this could be over with. Forever. After a few moments of indecision, she shoved her Blackberry in her pocket, frustrated. The journalist just kept winning. “Who are ‘they?’ Is that why I have to be quiet?” she asked flatly, half-expecting to be ignored again.

She kind of was. “Well, evidently they sent that message so getting you down here was part of a trap.”

He was so obnoxious. He was so aloof and frustrating! Answer the damn question, will you? Jean, however, kept her cool and humoured him. “Okay, so why were you down here?”

He evaded her immediately. “Next question.”

“No.” Jean advanced on him again. “You half-assed my other questions. You’re gonna answer this one.” Nikko suddenly seemed to wilt and curl in on himself, which was refreshing. He was never uncomfortable. It also meant she was on the right track and needed to keep pushing.

There went his jaw again. No lips. “Look,” he strained out, “I can’t tell you yet.” Jean fixed him with a look, which actually worked this time, to her surprise. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he licked his nonexistent lips, carefully considering before removing his hands from his hoodie and walking her back a few steps to be at arm's-length from him again. “There’s a sequence to these things, okay?”

A SEQUENCE?! Who did he think he was?! Jean wasn’t tolerating this anymore. She went off. “ _ NIKKO LEONID _ , I have put up with your bullshit for at least a month now! No, I will not wait! Damn your sequence. I want  **ANSWERS** !” Somehow Jean managed to whisper-scream all this so she wasn’t interrupted again.

“Okay! Okay…” Nikko tried to placate her to avoid another blow-out. That was...unusual. The answer to this question must be bad. But he cleared his throat and straightened his posture, which was a bad sign. Jean was losing the battle again. “Sequence,” he muttered firmly. Whether to himself or to them both, she didn’t know. “All right,” Hands were clapped together and the game face was on. The battle was lost. “We need someplace a bit more public. Somewhere I can keep a bead on everyone around us.” Nikko seemed to age 10 years as he thought. “Does-- did...Is that pizza place open 24/7?”

“No,” Jean answered in a daze, trying to wrap her head around the changes. How was she gonna escape this? How was she gonna get her answers if she did, though? And now in public? And this elusive they… Granted, it gave her a bit of an advantage, plenty of people around and an easy escape, but she’d also be away from home. She had to make sure she stayed on solid ground instead of losing what little she’d gained.

“Of course…” Nikko snapped multiple times like he thought it would help. “What about… How about IHOP? You like pancakes?”

Nikko was talking in a whirlwind; Jean’s mind was a whirlwind. “I had a muffin…” she whispered, still in a daze. Thinking, thinking, thinking. Her mind kept working and working, seeking answers but never finding any suitable ones. The journalist was no help because all she wanted to do was frantically agree with whatever Nikko said so she could finally get her answers and that was scary. Daredevil Jean… Daredevil Jean was far too much like Nikko and he was trying to bring her out. And the part of Jean she considered rational just wanted to tuck tail and run like always. It was a no-win situation. The Nikko-ache pulsed louder and louder. That’s what she was calling them now: Nikko-aches, because in all the times she’d hurt herself, no pain was quite like the kind Nikko brought.

Nikko was still talking. “Maybe Wal-mart. They’re 24/7, right? Or a gas station… No, too much movement. It’ll have to be IHOP.” And then he was dragging her off again.

Jean thought back to the pizza place. She’d changed since then. He’d changed. And yet, here they were again, Jean being dragged off by Nikko and not doing a damn thing about it.

 

To Jean’s pounding head, the sights, sounds, and smells of breakfast were more sickening than comforting. Everything blurred together, like that afternoon in the hall. Between Nikko and the regular noise level of a diner, all Jean’s senses went into overdrive and her head felt like it was going to explode. Thankfully, Nikko found a table near the middle of the diner and ordered for both of them all on his own. Jean would’ve never been able to handle that, what with her head trying to kill her.

She sat there in a daze while Nikko took inventory of every person in the diner. He said he’d give her answers now, right? Jean needed to triage so she knew which answers she needed most, so she could take off right after. Thankfully, this IHOP wasn’t too far from her house: they’d walked there. So now that she had a quick escape, answers were the priority. Before she could start cleaning up her corkboard, Nikko interrupted her.

“All right.” He clapped his hands, startling her into an upright position. “You’ll get your answers, but first you’ll get your food. It’s a surprise. Sequence.” And Nikko winked. That nymph-like gleam was back in his eyes. “But  _ before _ all that, we’ve gotta get cleaned up. Can you imagine what a sight we are?”

Jean took a look at Nikko: his ratty and matted hair, the blood coating the bottom half of his face, the dirt defining every line and pore above his collar, the overgrowth sticking to his clothes. She then tried to get a mental image of what that would look like on her. It wasn’t until Nikko’s face changed that Jean realized she was laughing. Real, honest-to-goodness laughter. All the tension from the past month and fear from tonight especially bubbled up out of her in uproarious, snorting peals of laughter. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d come this close to guffawing. In fact, she’d never guffawed. It felt wonderful to just sit here, hysterical and free. And when she looked at Nikko again, he was grinning from ear to ear, fiendish-looking what with the blood congealing all around his mouth. This sent her into more howls of laughter. What a sight they were indeed!

 

They’d decided to go get cleaned up one at a time so the other could guard the table. Despite how bad he looked, Nikko had voted Jean go first. Feeling the sweat on her forehead and neck turning the dirt into a cakey substance, Jean had gratefully obliged.

Now she was standing in front of the bathroom mirror and regretting it. She looked like she’d been dragged straight up from the pits of Hell. She had no idea what the heck had happened to her hair, but it looked as if she’d gone through a mudslide hurricane that had then deposited her into a vat of oil. Her skin resembled a blotchy fake tan. Jean couldn’t remember crawling out of a mafia grave in the desert, but it sure looked like she had. Okay, so how did she go about fixing this in a diner bathroom? Not one to be perturbed, Jean simply tore eye and nose holes in a paper towel, slathered it in soap, doused it in warm water, and smacked it on her face. She observed her creation hesitantly in the mirror. Well… she looked like a half-rate burglar, but it worked.

Out of the few people that were also at the diner, only one person came in. While Jean was tentatively petting at her long tangled hair with a dripping paper towel, she suddenly heard a body slam into the swinging door. In trudged a teenager, quite obviously mid-road-trip, who looked like she’d seen some things. She regarded Jean, in the corner with her mask and paper towel mid-pet, and only spared a cursory glance. While Jean froze, the teen just slipped into a stall, unfazed. At her indifference, Jean figured, “Screw it!” and filled a sink full of water to dunk her hair in and start scrubbing.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Jean walked out of the bathroom, mask-free and pseudo-clean. She felt a bit bad leaving Nikko there longer than planned, blood still congealing around his mouth. But he grinned when she turned the corner, still ghoulish-looking. As soon as Jean reached the table, he rose and gestured grandly. “Bon appetit!” On the table was a loaded plate. French toast, bacon, eggs, a side of pancakes… It was like they’d stuffed as much of breakfast as they could onto one plate. Then decided to throw in some pancakes as well. Despite what she’d said earlier, poppyseed muffins weren’t enough: Jean’s mouth was watering. She turned around to actually thank Nikko for once, but he was gone. How did he do that?

 

Despite being more messed up than her, Nikko took way less time getting cleaned up than Jean. Nevertheless, she was still almost finished scarfing down her meal when he got back to the table. He took another careful look around the diner, Jean slowing her shovelling to slyly watch him. She’d almost forgotten about this ‘they’ he was so worried about. Probably because she was still convinced it was him who sent the note and attacked her. And yet, since that liberating moment of laughter, it had been an out-of-body experience. She just couldn’t bring herself to hate or even fear him like before. There was still that sick feeling and the Nikko-ache, but beyond that…

Jean busied herself studying his face. Now that the blood was gone, she could see what damage she’d caused. There was still blood clogging most of his pores, making the bottom half of his face a bit mottled with pink and rust. The worst part of it though was the scars along his jaw. They wrapped around the pudgy corner like one of those spaghetti bowls in the city. Somehow, they looked even worse than the mottled purple along the bridge of his nose. It didn’t look as crooked as before, but there was still something distinctly off about it. Jean had definitely broken his nose; yet, no matter how hard she searched, she couldn’t find a shred of sympathy.

All of that, however, kind of paled in comparison to one small detail. Dark lines layered under his eyes. More than usual. More than naturally. These weren’t a product of his deep sockets or the natural eyeliner he seemed to have. These were stress. These were insomnia. These were ever-present proof of this ‘they’ he kept warning about.

Jean spared a look around herself for this omnipresent ‘they,’ but since she had no idea what she was looking for, was unsuccessful.

 

It took a long time to finish her food after that. She was lost in thought. Nikko nibbled away across from her, hungry but vigilant. All of this was getting far too muddled for Jean. She was supposed to feel a certain way about Nikko. She was supposed to be focusing on her future as a journalist. She was supposed to be Jean Janis  _ freaking _ Parker, untouchable and unstoppable and so so so sure of herself. After this month, none of that made sense anymore. Lines had been crossed and there was no way to reconcile Jean Janis Parker with this new Jean, eating breakfast at an IHOP at 5 AM with a boy she feared and hated and… No, she didn’t. Either one.

_ THAT _ scared her.

 

Plates were wiped clean with forks or fingers or bits of egg or pancakes. Drinks were chugged and coffee ordered. Two very different individuals stared each other down over steaming mugs.

Back at home, Denny would be just making his own coffee and watching an obscure morning talk show before making sure Jean was up and at ‘em. But she could care less: answers were finally FINALLY infuriatingly close and she would pry them out with merciless precision. She eyed Nikko with as much cold calculation as she could muster. She was not  _ his _ Jean; she was Jean Janis Parker, a reporter on just another interview. She had all her questions planned, mentally shifting and stacking papers, licking her li--

Nikko snickered. “How do you even start these things non-awkwardly? Just jump right in?” Then his voice took on a sarcastic tone. “Shall I state my name for the record? Got a tape recorder we can use?”

Jean did in fact have a tape recorder but 1) she didn’t have it with her, and 2) even if she did, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of pulling it out now. So she just sat there patiently, resolutely distant. Just an interview.

Nikko made a show of clearing his throat and straightening his stained clothes. “I’ll just jump right in, then,” he replied to Jean’s silence. “It was a dark and stormy night… OoooOooooh!” Nikko waggled his fingers eerily and alternated between storm sounds and his impression of a ghost. Jean’s stoic look deflated him after a few seconds, though. “Tough crowd,” he muttered, and attempted to match Jean’s level of sobriety. “As I recall, it was the middle of a school day. The year was 2010. Everything was going about normally. My bubble was intact and life uninterrupted. When suddenly!”  **BAM!** Nikko slapped the table with far too much force, rattling coffee mugs and almost tipping the salt shaker. The huge ketchup bottle wobbled clumsily, then pitifully keeled over. Nikko continued, undeterred. “A girl! She notices! Shies away! This has never happened before! This isn’t supposed to happen.” Nikko pauses his dramatic dialogue to quickly insert, “We’ll get to that later.” Jean makes a mental note, underlined and bolded, to make  _ doubly _ sure they get to that later, then determinedly jams it into the corkboard. “This isn’t an isolated event, though. She’s scared.” So he did know. He had known the whole time. Jean almost misses his next words, trying to school her face into something cold rather than shock. “So I did a few tests. I forced myself into her bubble like she had mine. I made doubly sure she really did notice me and really was afraid of me. Over years, I tested and tested until I was 100% sure it was me. And then I moved to the next level.” Nikko settled back into his chair like he’d finally reached his point. “I stared her down like she did me. I vanished when she wasn’t looking.” His gaze hardened as realization slowly dawned on Jean. “I  _ talked _ to her…”

A test. It was all just a test. Nikko was a sociopath who’d just let her loose in a maze as if she were a lab rat. HOW DARE-- An interview. This was all impersonal. He wasn’t talking about her. He’d never said it was her, so it could be anyone.

Nikko had continued whilst Jean was pulling herself together. “--insert myself into her life as much as possible without changing too much. I think she’s better for it. Why’s this all so important?” His tone lost that narrative edge and turned personal. Nikko leaned far too much into Jean’s personal space and locked probing eyes on hers. There was a beat of silence, hot coffee-stained breath wafting from each of them: Jean starting to panic and Nikko schooling his exhales. Finally, he whispered, “You’re not supposed to see me.”

He didn’t pull back to watch her reaction. Jean didn’t immediately catch on. Nikko just waited there, face inches from hers. She just patted her pockets for her wallet because that was the polite thing to do and their waiter had been nothing but courteous. This she could do. This she could focus on. After a few seconds’ searching, she realized she was in thermals and basketball shorts; she had left the house in the middle of the night; she didn’t have her wallet. Jean just sat back, defeated. She didn’t have any food to finish and her coffee was probably cold and just dregs by now. She had no tip to leave. There was nothing to distract her from what was just posed. And there was no way she was even dignifying it with an answer. No way. She wasn’t playing--

“So what…? You’re some kind of woodland fairy?” Jean deadpanned, half-expecting him to answer ‘yes’ after all this.

He chuckled. He  _ freaking  _ _ chuckled! _ “Well, not particularly, but--”

SCREW Nikko.  _ SCREW all of this _ . She’d come here for answers, not delusions of grandeur or all the bullshit Nikko was shovelling. Jean had reached her bullshit quota for the year. She was going home and getting this monster the hell out of her life.

She rose from the table, jolting it, finally knocking that salt shaker over. If she’d been in her right mind, Jean might have appreciated the irony in that, but she was too busy seeing red. Nikko was already sputtering and rising to go after her, but he needed to seriously STEP OFF if he wanted to live. She marched resolutely out the door, Nikko still chasing after her.

“Come ON, Jean! You can’t tell me it doesn’t make any sense!” Jean rolled her eyes and moved faster, hoping to shake him, but it was no use. “Your head doesn’t throb around me? You don’t get that itching feeling that something is very wrong? That it’s me?” His words made a chill crackle down her spine.  _ Of course _ he knew how he affected her. However, his next words stopped her in her tracks. “You can’t act like you haven’t seen things. Weird things.  _ Flickers _ .”

How did he know? How could he possibly  **know** ? Jean had tried to deny it, but yesterday had not been the first time she’d seen a flicker like that.

“Heard things no one else hears.  _ Noticed things no one else seems to _ . Your eyes have been opened, Jean. That’s why they want you.”

He knew. He knew everything. Nikko had read Jean like a book from the very beginning. She’d thought he’d just been an irrational fear, some challenge she needed to endure to be a true reporter. But he knew everything she’d experienced since they “met.” How much more did he know?

Involuntarily, Jean surged toward him. Collar in her hands, she dragged him to the nearest dark spot and shoved him against the side of a building. “TALK.”

 

Nikko had led her to an alley between two stores he deemed “safe,” although he still kept an eye out for that they he kept referring to. Jean stalked about, fuming. The anger was just so palpable now, far too palpable and far too powerful. She’d never been this angry; she’d always been able to control it before. But now… Every look at Nikko spiked her fury just as it spiked the Nikko-ache. Everything was falling apart and he hadn’t even begun to tell her the truth.

He was babbling now. “I wanted to tell you, Jean. I wanted to tell you everything. Just… Just not like this. I had a plan and everything. It just all… Sequence. Damn sequence.” He made like to throw something but had nothing in his hands. “Just tell me you’ll believe me. Jean, you have to believe me, above all else. It’s so very important you believe me. Please be--”

That was IT! “About what, Nikko? You’ve told me nothing but that I’m some lab rat to you, a fairytale creature. I’m supposed to freaking believe that?! What are you trying to tell me?” Jean backed him into a wall. “What?” Hands slammed against shoulders. “ _ What _ ?”

This wasn’t right. None of this was right. They weren’t supposed to be here. Nikko wasn’t supposed to be telling her this. Jean wasn’t supposed to be so angry. Or hands on. Once again, it felt wrong and sick to touch him. To acknowledge him. To deny him. The Nikko-ache faded, but at what cost? That not-right feeling had been slowly wading through her subconscious this entire morning, but now it belly-flopped. Quickly, Jean released Nikko and staggered to the left just enough to release a boiling torrent of partially-digested breakfast. It missed their clothes, but splashed onto and over pants and shoes. The sight made her dry-heave.

Calmly, Nikko stepped from the wall and got Jean’s attention, careful not to touch her again. “ _ That’s _ what I’m talking about. You’ve felt that before. Not-right and just a hint of not-there. Jean, you  **see** . That’s why.”

“Flickers?” Jean choked out between spitting. She was done denying. All she could do was play along.

“Flickers,” Nikko echoed flatly. He was so calm about all of this. How was he so calm? “I figured this would happen.” He rifled around in his pockets. “I brought napkins,” Nikko explained, holding out a stack of five.

Jean greedily snatched them from him and furiously mopped at her face and what she could of her pants. She glanced at Nikko’s, but thought better of touching him again.

Without meeting his eyes, Jean passed him two unused napkins. He thanked her nonverbally by being sure not to touch her.

When all was said and done, they both dropped their napkins unceremoniously and sank to the filthy ground. Nikko’s tired eyes glanced the direction of Jean’s neighbourhood, then back to her. “Red pill or blue pill?”

Jean laughed. It was the polar opposite of her earlier, world-shattering laugh. This one was dry and dark, no mirth in it. “Red pill.”


	6. Hyperreality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She felt herself starting to hyperventilate, so she clenched down on her lungs, willing them into submission. “I’m making you self-aware,” he responded to her reaction. “Your mind and body aren’t going to like that very much. You see, but you’re still a dreamer being told they’re dreaming.” He leaned in close to whisper, “And dreamers don’t like to be woken up.” The words chilled Jean, but not as much as his next: “So now I’m going to douse you with freezing water.”

> _ Chapter Six:  _ _ Hyperreality _

 

     Nikko seemed shocked by Jean’s choice. He opened his mouth to voice this, but Jean just held up her hand, cradling her throbbing temples in the other. “Just. Talk.”

   Once again, at least Jean could find joy in the fact that Nikko was the least bit flustered. Jean was just tired -- of anything. Of everything. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to just hear him out, interview aside? But believing him… What he had to say could only get worse and she was having trouble believing him already. She’d have to keep herself in check and ignore the bullshit meter.

 

     The ground around them was grimy and smelt even before Jean vomited, but they both kept sitting there, catching their breath as if they’d been taxed physically rather than mentally. Sunlight was just starting to filter between the buildings, and Jean was starting to realize she was definitely not going to be getting to school today. Yesterday, that would have mattered.

     Nikko reclined his head against suspiciously dank brick and just blew out a long tension-sigh. “There’s really no beginning to this.” His eyes slowly rolled over to meet Jean’s “I have to be honest with you: I’m finding it increasingly difficult to phrase this in a way you’ll understand.” Blandly, he amended, “No offence. I’m just not sure your mind works the same way.”

     The Jean of a few hours ago would have raged about the fact that  _ he’s _ the one that asked  _ her _ to meet him, but she had to remember he said it wasn’t him. She was probing for answers, and if a little bit of fickle trust would get her some she’d take it. “I’ll try,” she answered instead,  _ trying _ not to grit her teeth.

     Still turned toward her, but now with eyes closed, he huffed out a laugh. “Guess that’s all we can hope for, huh?”

     Jean latched hard onto this moment of weakness. Nikko was floundering and damn if she wasn’t going to exploit it. “Look…” She was sure to let exhaustion taint her voice. It was a petty move, but it would work. “Just... talk and I’ll let you know when I’m falling behind.” A weary smile was the final punch: Nikko had started to study her again.

     “You asked for it.” And with that he seemed to straighten and face her head-on. “Is the earth spinning right now?”

     What kind of stupid question was that? “Uh, yeah… Pretty sure of that.”

     “Can you feel it?”

     “No… But I’m pretty sure you usually don’t…?” Jean was absolutely positively sure she’d learned that, but Nikko had a way of making her feel like the dumbest person on the planet.

     “Has it ever, say...disoriented you? Think turbulence on an airplane.” If Jean had never felt it before, she sure was now. But that was the problem: she  had felt it before. She knew the earth spun, but last time she’d checked it didn’t wobble. She felt herself starting to hyperventilate, so she clenched down on her lungs, willing them into submission. “I’m making you self-aware,” he responded to her reaction. “Your mind and body aren’t going to like that very much. You  _ see _ , but you’re still a dreamer being told they’re dreaming.” He leaned in close to whisper, “And dreamers don’t like to be woken up.” The words chilled Jean, but not as much as his next: “So now I’m going to douse you with freezing water,” he continued, making sure to keep direct and up-close eye contact. “What do you see out of the corner of your eye?”

     Right now? It was flickery as  _ hell _ , but there was no way she was going to admit that. “Brick,” she deadpanned, staring him down.

     “Jean,” he chided, not even blinking. Almost like he was expecting it. “You have to work with me here. Or else the dousing isn’t going to do a damn thing except leave you fuming and dripping.  Now ,” his gaze hardened. How could Nikko flip through so many attitudes like an animation? “ _ What do you see _ ?”

     Jean opened her mouth.

     “Out of the corner of your eye, before you get smart with me.” Now he just sounded like her mom. How strange was this morning going to get?

     Floored, Jean did as she was told, but more like a petulant child than a moody teenager. Out of the corner of her eye, something strange happened. Well, not really. She was used to it by now, but it still visually startled her a bit. The brick wall wasn’t brick. Ignoring the Nikko-ache, she focused. No...still brick, but melted with metal: like a painting chipping away to reveal another hidden underneath. Abruptly, metal flickered back into brick. Jean visibly jumped, turning but, like always, not seeing anything strange.

     Nikko’s eyes were ecstatic, but only his eyes. “Well that answers my question, but I want you to say it. You need to tell me what you saw.” His hand hovered near her shoulder, meant to be comforting and grounding. It was not.

     She’d admitted it earlier after she threw up, but that still didn’t make this any easier. “Flick...ers…” she just barely squeaked out. Jean would seriously be surprised if he could hear that. But he didn’t need to hear it: he already knew her answer. So with a satisfied nod, he stood up and offered a helping hand.

     Jean considered that gesture for far too long. On one hand, (pun not intended) she didn’t particularly relish the thought of touching him again, wary of what happened last time. On the other, taking his hand had started this whole insane vortex. Jean felt a wave of nostalgia at the thought. That had been a month ago. A month ago, she’d had her first big Nikko-ache and taking his hand had cleared it right up.

     Last time, she’d known exactly what taking that hand meant, and had gladly taken the plunge. This time, she wasn’t so sure. That not-right feeling was stronger than it had been back then; and even though Nikko had told her exactly why, she was more cautious now.

     Sluggishly, Jean rose on her own, staring down the hand as if it were a predator. Nikko’s face fell and his hand drooped down to his side, but he immediately brightened at Jean’s next words. “Show me.”

 

     And that he did. They’d snuck back down into the drainage wash, Nikko being ever-vigilant now that they were out of what he considered a safe zone. It was now full daylight and Jean had willfully ignored a call from her dad: she didn’t know what to tell him yet. And there was no way she was ending this ride when answers were trickling in by the dozen. She would find out the truth, school and parents be damned. The wash didn’t seem so scary in the daylight, but there sure was a jungle of foliage she hadn’t quite grasped her last two trips down here. It was like another world, tramping through vines: Nikko hadn’t brought anything to cut them with and insisted on not pulling off anymore, referencing earlier. So Jean just tripped along behind him as best she could.

     They went deeper than they ever had before, far from her neighbourhood. Jean was starting to wonder when the drainage wash would come to an end, when Nikko suddenly stopped her. He turned around abruptly to face her, and after tripping through a rather nasty tangle, she almost barrelled straight into him. Out of instinct, Nikko’s hands shot out to steady her. The rush of nausea struck through her gut and she shoved Nikko back before she could throw up, forgetting he was holding her up. Back he tumbled, and she tumbled forward with him. They fell forward onto tangled vines and concrete, so the sound should have been soft or a slight scratching at most. What Jean heard was entirely different. A loud metallic  **WHUMP** resounded around them. Was there a hatch here or something? Way past freaked out and now just resigning herself to curiosity, Jean scrambled off of Nikko and began digging through the foliage beneath them.

     Beside her, Nikko’s face brightened considerably. “So you did hear it…”

     Jean tried to fake nonchalance, even searching furiously as she was. “And that’s supposed to be important?” Something about his expression told her exactly why it was important. Was she now starting to “hear” as well as “see?” This was ridiculous.

     “Jean, you know why it’s important. Don’t even play like you don’t.” There was a pause before he chuckled. What was up with him and chuckling lately? “It’s not a hidden vault.” Without asking, he reached over and stilled her hands. Jean had to fight not to throw up on him. “The fact that more of your senses are tuning in means this next test might be just a bit easier.” He still hadn’t let go of her hands. She was about to seriously hurt him. “Seeing me is one thing. Kid stuff, really; even though no one’s supposed to. But you still get that not-right feeling around me. And you’re about to throw up right now, huh?” Nikko stroked his thumb along the fat of her palm just to drive his point home. Jean only glared in response. He wanted projectile vomit in his eyes? Fine. He could keep touching her if she got to unleash her  _ Exorcist _ on him. “This... _ This _ is hauling out the big guns.”

     With that he hauled her up and drug her over to the leafy concrete wall, placing her hand within the foliage. Thankfully, he let go after and Jean’s stomach literally sagged in relief. She had to catch her breath and steady herself on the wall a bit after, but at least now they weren’t in danger of a pea soup shower. Jean felt along the ragged concrete and dry foliage but wasn’t sure what she was supposed to find.

     A huff blew out behind her. So Nikko was still a diva. Nice to know he kept his character when all else flew out the freaking window. Jean held on to that bit of familiarity, grounding herself. She could survive this. Whatever he threw at her. “No, Jean…” There was that condescension again. How did he expect her to know everything? “Focus. Keep your hand still and concentrate on what you’re feeling under it.”

     Okay. Okay, she could do that. The concrete was chipping where she’d stilled her hand: her index and middle finger dipped into a gouge that felt eerily like a bullet hole. If she moved her pinky, it could just brush a crinkly leaf. She closed her eyes and channelled everything into tactile sense, trying to figure out what exactly she was supp-- That did  _ not _ feel like concrete.

     The not-concrete was smooth under her fingers. In place of the bullet hole, there was something different, but Jean couldn’t quite place it. Curious more than anything, Jean stretched her pinky out to feel for the leaf. Instead, her shortest digit crumpled against something hard. Using just the now-throbbing pinky, she felt along this new object and found a ridge leading to something sharp. She was tempted to open her eyes, but knew she’d lose all progress if she did. So she just focused harder on what she was feeling, searching her tactile sense for another clue. Underneath her fingers, smooth not-concrete was suddenly humming and ice-cold.

     “ _ Fuck _ !” Jean shrieked, flying backward. It had flown from her mouth, pure primal fear. “Sh-shucks…” she amended, panting and stuttering and coughing.

     Nikko was at her ear, hot breath ghosting the shell before harshly whispering, “ _ Wake up, sleepyhead _ .” And the moment was gone. Jean turned to find him still in the same place as before, coolly eyeing her. Luckily, he completely ignored her outburst and played along. “Shucks, huh?” A wry smirk lit up his features. “Not exactly what I was going for, but I guess that works.”

     He was still talking, making some joke or other, but Jean tuned it out and stared at her fingers. Even though what she’d felt was cold, she still felt as if she’d been burned. Of course, there was nothing wrong with her fingers: just confused nerve endings trying to make sense of what she’d just felt. As was Jean. Under her scrutiny, she flexed each finger and watched it move, waiting for something even crazier to happen. Could she trust anything her senses were feeding her right now?

     A hand on hers stopped her study: Nikko was obviously set on touching her now. Jean swallowed the nausea and met his eyes. What connection did what she felt around Nikko have to whatever she just felt under the concrete? Or  _ instead of _ the concrete? And how did that connect with what she’d heard a minute ago or seen and felt for years? Or was not supposed to see, in the case of Nikko. “Jean,” bubbled up into her auditory sense, like rising from boiling oil. Her eyes focused. Right. Nikko, answers.  _ Then _ answers of her own.

     Once he was sure he had her attention, Nikko unlatched his hand from hers and used it to pull aside some overgrowth in front of them. What greeted Jean was a hallucination. It had to be. A section of steel hallway lay there, squeezed between the stretch of drainage wash she was standing in and one on the other side of the misplaced hallway, at least 3 feet away. The edges of both sides of it seemed to melt into the concrete, and vice versa. Like the flickers… Pain shot through Jean’s skull, even worse than a Nikko-ache.

     At the doctor, no matter how much pain she was in, Jean usually saved 7-10 on the pain scale for emergencies. She’d considered her Nikko-aches a solid 10+. But if these had been at least a ten, this ranked a 15, no doubt about it. However, with this spike of blinding pain came ironic clarity.

     Steel hallway. Steel was a metal. Steel was cold and smooth. Steel was sometimes hollow. She’d been seeing and hearing a steel hallway.

     With this revelation, squinting against The Migraine from Hell, Jean delicately placed a hand on either side of the steel-concrete mess. What she felt was exactly the same -- cold, smooth, humming. She knocked on one edge, then the other. What she heard was exactly the same -- a hollow tap-tap. Jean blinked and blinked, turned her head to both sides and focused on peripheral vision, but the hallway remained; as did that demon lovechild of concrete and steel.

     More in fear than awe now, she turned to Nikko to attempt to sputter out a question. He beat her to it, already providing the answer Jean had searched for but now never wanted.

     “A hologram, Jean. You’re living in a hologram.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it folks, the second half of the reveal and the two longest chapters I've ever written.


	7. Consensus Reality

_ Chapter Seven:   _ _ Consensus Reality _

 

Jean just exhaled long and slow, shoving her back against the merge and sliding down. Nikko, trying to make sense of her reaction, ambled over clearing his throat. He stopped at a small box near her mounted on the wall. It looked a bit singed on the side facing Jean.

He absentmindedly tapped at it with his forefinger before turning to Jean. “You felt one of these, right?”

Couldn’t he just give her a break?  _ One second _ to collect herself. Just  _ one second _ ! One second to put it all together and convince herself once again that Nikko was a fool and a quack and this was all a bad trip.

“I saw you stick your pinky out and hit something hard. It had to be one of these.” He paused infinitesimally. “This one’s broken, of course. That’s w--”

“NIKKO!” she shrieked, surprised by her own voice. “ _ One. Damn. Minute. _ ” After a few seconds, Jean thought to add, “...Please.”

Her shriek had scared him into action, making signs to quiet down, but Jean’s ‘please’ had him slightly nodding and sinking down next to her as quietly as possible. They tried to pass the requested minute in silence, but her head just wouldn’t give her a break. Nikko just seemed weary, like his admission had drained him and his word-vomit of a few seconds ago had been a front. He’d needed this minute as well. With a groan, head in hands, Jean simply fell sideways. There she stayed, hands cupped over face, curled into fetal position, lying on the cold steel of the corridor. Harder and harder pulsed her head, the chill of the floor doing nothing to help her boiling skull. Suddenly, a hand was on her arm, reassuring. Nikko touching her had the same effect as always; but after she fought down the nausea, it was soothing in a way. Absentmindedly, he began to pet her arm, finally triumphing in comforting her for once. Despite what she’d just been told and only requesting a minute to process it, Jean finally began to relax. Out came the nervous tics she so desperately kept under wraps on a regular basis: a jerk of a hip or shoulder, the click-click of fingernail against fingernail, the scritch of ground teeth.

Nikko sat there patiently, petting her arm and giving her far more than a minute. Seventeen, to be exact. A grumble finally came from behind her hands and he leaned closer to hear.

Without permission, words rumbled up from Jean’s chest and trickled out of her mouth behind still-cupped hands. “Why do you make me nauseated? And the Nikko-aches?” She groaned again. “I mean, I  _ know _ , but help me understand.”

Jean could practically hear the smug grin in his next words. “Named them after me, huh?”

“Yes,” she deadpanned, “Because you’re an ache all by yourself.” Granted, Jean was shocked she had even called them that out loud. A deep blush bloomed across her face but was hidden behind her hands still. As a result, her sarcasm didn’t quite have the bite needed. To make up for it, she grunted out, “Just answer the question. For once.”

Nikko shifted beside her, drawing her eyes out from behind her hands. “Radio,” he declared, removing his petting hand to indicate her whole body. “Dial,” he tapped her temple, a bit harder and more times than necessary. He then sat back and almost backfisted the steel wall. His knuckles resounded along the hall as he finished up with, “Station.”

Jean took a second to register that. “But what does all that have to do with you? Are you a dial or a station?” Oh, boy… Between the allusion and her pounding head, this was going to take a while.

Nikko took his turn to groan. “Are you  _ sure _ you want to go down that road?” His stare turned far too grave for Jean’s liking.

So she matched his stare with her own intensity. “Pretty sure I’ve been standing at the edge of that road this past month, so… Am I going to have to hitchhike or what?”

Those thin lips peeled back in a grin, nigh-snarling. “We really need to stop with the metaphors.” He took a moment to consider this before continuing. “That being said...I’m more like the hand that turns the dial. Ehhh… And a station. Either. Both.”

Okay, so yes, Jean had chosen red pill and everything, but she would really love it if he could just  _ have a point _ for once. Was it impossible for him to make sense? Or  _ not _ dance around an issue? Jean faced this head-on. “Spill. Hit me with it: all or nothing.”

Her head was really going to adore her later.

 

After a bit of squabbling, she’d finally wheedled Nikko into verbally painting himself into a corner. He fumbled. “Okay… So… Um… This stuff you’re seeing, right? I guess that’s the best place to start. None of it’s real. I mean, besides the steel. That’s real. That’s the foundation. Your mind builds the house.” He winced, sheepish under Jean’s ‘I’m just done at this point’ dull stare. “Heh. More metaphors. But hey! This one needs to be said. The steel is literally a foundation and everything else is what you want to see.”

Jean cut in. “So essentially I’m crazy? Right? I’m screwed. And I’m just making up you and the world around me. Nice. Just perfect. There’s my brilliant story. Insanity is the best rise to fame, huh?”

Nikko whipped toward her, hand raised as if to slap her. “Don’t  _ ever _ say that! Don’t ever  _ believe _ that! Soon as you believe that, we’re done for.” The static hand twitched once, as if he was really considering slapping the notion out of her, then slowly lowered. “You’re only doing what you’re supposed to, Jean.” And that’s all he said. Silent as the grave.

“Cryptic,” Jean deadpanned. For once she didn’t ask. She didn’t want to think about that phrase right now. “Go on.” And somehow Nikko knew exactly what she meant.

“So this foundation… It’s not actually steel and not just a foundation. It’s...uh...a ship?” Nikko muttered in a voice so high and fast and quiet it was almost only a squeak. “As in...spaceship.”

He let that sink in. 3...2...1… “ **ALIENS** ! That’s your big twist?! An X-Files episode?!”

Nikko interrupted immediately. “ _ Hey _ ! X-Files is incredible.  _ I Want to Believe _ !” His arms crossed and he huffed. “Neophyte.”

Jean breathed and did her best to humour him. “Okay, so we’re part of an X-File. Got it. What else?”

There was a sound like a cross between a whine and a strangled chicken. “Weeeeeell, more like Star Trek. Movie. Star Trek Next Generation, to be precise. And I know you know what I mean, Spock.” The look he gave her was knowing and probing and everything that made chills run down Jean’s spine. Well, crap, he knew too much. So much for her X-Files denial: she’d given herself away with her earlier Vulcan grip.

Disgruntled, she nodded her assent. “Yes. Sure. Moving on.”

Nikko was kind enough to suppress the usual smug. He continued, getting a foothold in his tale. “You’re on a spaceship, it’s some kind of metal. That we’ve covered. Foundation.” He turned to that small box on the wall. “That one’s defective. That’s why you don’t have to concentrate to see here. Foundation, but no walls. And when there are no walls, your mind can’t decorate.”

Jean groaned and Nikko held his hands up in surrender. “The  _ metaphors _ …” She straightened. “Okay, yes, they’re helping  _ me _ , but my head is not your friend right now. Norhasiteverbeenactually…  _ I need Excedrin _ … Actually, Oxycodone by this point.” Her head lolled over, fixing Nikko with another stare, this one blank.

Nikko’s mouth became that thin line again. “Your head’s hurting because Jean Janis Parker, for all her talk of searching for the truth, is  _ denying _ it. Real journalists learn the facts, whatever their minds try to tell them. That’s why I used that radio metaphor. It’s like literally tuning in. Think of Nikko-aches as static.”

That...made sense, actually. For once. Before the Nikko-aches, she was getting white noise; and now it was nothing but Nikko-aches. She’d also moved on to...steel-aches? She needed a term for this new and powerful strain.

As she thought through this, Nikko took her catatonic state as one of confusion, waiting for it all to kick in. But it wasn’t confusion. It was ‘oh shit…’ It was Jean maybe, perhaps, possibly, probably starting to believe a word of it. It was the steel-ache clearing up finally as Jean gave in. She whispered it, but with all the force she could. “Not fighting anymore. X-Files? Star Trek? Fine. I believe. I can’t possibly not believe. ...And that’s important, right?”

Nikko’s eyes zeroed in in that way that had always chilled her. “Quite possibly the  _ most _ important thing.” He reached out tentatively to touch her arm. The Nikko-ache was still lurking there, but didn’t flare for once and Jean didn’t blanch. “And I love the enthusiasm, but if you fall into belief easily, it’s just as easy to fall out. Slow down until you hear everything. Sleep on it.” He nodded, seeking an answer, asking ‘Okay?’ without voicing it. Jean nodded back shakily. Nikko’s hand left her arm and suddenly it was far too cold.

The Nevada sun was really starting to bear down now, brightening even the darkest parts of the wash. Jean thought maybe it was flashing off the metal panels, too, but knew better. She was building denial walls and hanging blissful ignorance paintings. The metal returned to its dull condition, even if only while she was concentrating. Despite the rising heat, that now-vacant spot on her arm was still chilled. She laced fingers with Nikko’s just to ground herself.

“So what’s the why?” she finally asked. Who, what, where, why, how? The staples of journalism. She had an idea of who and concrete answers to what, where, and how. She just needed why. Why was the most important. No one wanted a story without the why.

Nikko looked shocked by her actions, staring at their fingers for far too long then studying her face. “I’m expecting you want the long answer,” he finally croaked out.

Jean tried to hide her own shock. Nikko wasn’t confident for once? The alarm must have shown in her eyes, though, because he sobered up almost immediately. “Of course.” Jean was just as croaky, but managed a wry smile.

“Of course,” he echoed, chuckling. “No one wants a story without a decent  _ why _ .” Jean wasn’t even shocked by the fact he said almost exactly what she’d just been thinking. It wasn’t even a surprise anymore when Nikko tricked her into seeing his human side and bitch-slapped her with the nymph in him. It was just part of their relationship now. Nikko studied her face before continuing. Finding no shock there, he grinned. “Damnit, you’re getting comfortable with me. It’s almost sweet.”  _ It’s not. It’s really not. _ But Jean stayed quiet. “I don’t even think I have to ask if you’ve played Fallout.” Jean used to. Now, she had no time for fun things like video games. Just as he didn’t have to ask, Jean didn’t have to answer. He knew. He knew  _ everything _ .

Still, he levelled that gut-punch look her way. Jean fought it with her own. Did she need to go back to ‘Just an interview?’ Jean didn’t think she could at this point. Too much ground covered. Too much baggage. Too much of  _ them _ .

“So you know Vault-Tec. You know their real mission wasn’t quite so cutesy 50s. You know they were scientists. Practicing skewed science, but scientists at heart.” Jean nodded her assent with her eyes. Nikko didn’t even need it, but she wanted him to know she followed. “We’ve already established you’re living in a hologram on a spaceship, no need to rehash that. Well, more. But the why lies in the same realm as Vault-Tec’s. Science.” Nikko nodded his own assent. “The occupants of this ship -- those who run it, that is -- are called Ulsi. They’re scientists. They run the Earth hologram, and you and hundreds of other natives of Earth have been on this ship for the past twenty years.”

Jean’s psyche kind of faded out. Everything else he said was lost or ignored. She caught on one phrase: ‘natives of Earth.’ What he was now saying was background noise and she broke the ambience with “I assume you’re not in that number, then.” Blandly. Coldly.

Nikko choked on another iteration of ‘science.’ His mouth hung open, the new buzz word still rolling up his throat. After a few seconds, he woke up, jaw snapping loudly. His eyes welled up, revealing he’d clamped down on his tongue. The word was swallowed down half-eaten and new words emerged: “Clever girl.” His tone was so mature, none of the nymph in it. Even after all she now knew, he would never stop being a nymph to Jean.

“You’re a scientist,” she breathed, almost involuntarily. Nikko didn’t answer, just studied her face as per usual. “Ulsi…” the word got jumbled on her tongue. It was far too heavy, implicated too much. Yet it ghosted past her lips just the same. She didn’t need to add that that was his connection to all this. The word held that, along with years of fear, of questions, along with months of pain and confusion. Along with the farce of friendship.

Nikko swallowed hard, “Not a scientist,” he whispered, as if that made it all better. “Not a scientist,” he repeated. Was he trying to convince himself? Because she was a journalist at heart, Jean couldn’t ignore the tone to it: a tinge of regret.

Jean Janis Parker’s Mental Corkboard of Trivial Things had been swept from the wall this morning. Instead, the wall itself had become a hub for all facts Nikko and this new reality. Jean’s recent discovery was hastily added and underlined. They’d come back to this later.

Nikko was still talking and Jean’s mind was struggling to keep up, cluttered with graffiti. “I’m more of a...monitor?” He tasted the word, not fully satisfied. Nevertheless, he shook it off and continued. “You’re not the only one who sees, Jean. Which is where I was going before you inter--”

“ _ NO _ , we’re not leaving this topic.” Jean could appreciate the satisfying irony of interrupting ‘interrupted’ later. Right now she was a bloodhound on the scent and -- despite graffiti -- nothing would distract her. “You’re not human…” Lips began to peel back, revealing canines. “You’re Ulsi…” Gums caught up in a snarl, teeth clenched tightly. “You’re one of…” A primal growl painfully climbed up. “ _ You’re one of them _ !” Teeth sunk into flesh, jaw locking in place. “You’re one of them!” Locked on, nothing was prying the pitbull off its prey. In reality, however, Jean Janis Parker was anything but a pitbull. Fists began to beat at any flesh they could; weakly at first, then stronger with each word. “You’re one of them! You shit! You fucking shit!” Pounding and pounding, knuckles bemoaning the force. “You lied to me!  **_You bastard, you lied to me_ ** !” Jean landed a punch -- where she didn’t know, didn’t care -- with every word. “You!” THWACK! “Lied!” THWACK! “To!”  **CRUNCH** ! “ME!” THWACK! Blood flew from who knows where. Something broke and Jean’s fists throbbed too much to throw anymore than a few more punches.

At first, she thought maybe she’d hit herself since her face was soaked, but it was only then she realized she’d been sobbing. Jean’s body was shaking with it, great heaves of breath to make up for the outflow of salt and mucus. Her fists were still beating, but now just weak hammerfalls against Nikko’s chest. Eventually, she willed herself to kick, distancing herself from him.

Jean sniffed, “Go away…”

Seemingly unaffected by the past few moments, Nikko reached for her. It was only when she pulled away, disgusted, that he slumped over, now clutching his swelling mouth. Covertly, he spat out a tooth. “Jean…” It was almost a whimper.

A bark of hysterical laughter exploded from Jean’s lips. “H-how do you know what reality is? You’re only a  _ m-monitor _ : you said so yourself! ‘Not a scientist… Not a scien-t-tist.’ Ever heard of a double-blind?!” Nikko’s eyes widened at the thought and he shook his head furiously, not in an answer but in a complete rejection of the idea. “You don’t think they thought of bias? That just  _ maybe _ you might get close to your charge? That they knew you’d tell me all this? That they made certain accommodations to fight that?” Jean couldn’t stop her lips from moving, couldn’t stop her tongue from spouting all this hate, couldn’t stop her face from pulling into a sadistic sneer. He’d screwed with her mind enough; now it was time to screw with his. “That you might be part of the experiment?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On that note, how did Morpheus know what was the true reality? Food for thought.


	8. GOOD NEWS!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for your interest in this story! Unfortunately, I won't be updating any time soon...because I am now a published author! Check out the link below to my debut novel.

     Plethora turns even the most hardy defenseless and overwhelmed. In a world intent on destroying humanity, five Survivors wonder if it is really worth fighting for.  
     Check out my debut novel, [Reprogrammed: Book One](http://www.blurb.com/b/9295239-reprogrammed), the first book in the Reprogrammed Trilogy.


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